DWP: Their Memory a Blessing
Title: Their Memory a Blessing
Author: Mary Griggs
Fandom: DWP
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: G
Summary: Miranda and Andy reflect on those from the fashion industry who died over the course of 2022.
Author’s Notes: Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox are the true owners; I'm just letting the ladies play in my sandbox for a while.
After locking the deadbolt, Andy dropped her keys into the cloisonné enamel bowl near the front door. It was after eight o’clock on the final Friday night of the year and she was so very glad to be home.
She just closed her eyes and took a moment to bask in the silence. The week between Christmas and New Year’s was always busy at the paper and she was brain tired from a day of fact checking other, more senior journalists’ work in addition to meeting her own deadlines.
Opening her eyes, Andy cocked her head and focused her awareness on her surroundings. She always swore that she could tell if Miranda was around by the energy level of the place. Miranda just seemed to operate on a higher frequency than anyone else she had ever met.
Her gut told her Miranda was home but it felt muted. Andy frowned at the sensation as she shrugged off her jacket. Before hanging it in the closet, she checked to make sure both gloves were in the pockets. Ever since she was a child, she had a tendency to lose multiple hats, gloves and scarves throughout the winter. As the current pair was a Christmas present from Miranda, she definitely didn’t want to misplace them.
Stepping out of her heels, she flexed her toes as she tried to pinpoint where Miranda was in the house. Stymied, she gave up on her intuition and padded over on bare feet to peer into the study. Empty. She then climbed up the stairs to their bedroom. No Miranda but, while she was there, she changed into sweats and fuzzy socks.
The girls were still at their father’s for the holiday break and their rooms were dark, so she went back downstairs. She checked out the kitchen and saw lights flickering in the rear of the garden. She opened the door and then closed it quickly. The temperature had dropped since she had gotten home.
Once she had put her coat and hat back on, Andy walked out to the distant corner. Miranda was sitting on one of the wrought iron chairs in front of a mosaic table top with many different sizes and colors of candles on it.
Miranda stared at the flames, clutching the long charcoal lighter from the grill.
“May I join you?” Andy asked.
Miranda jumped a little as she whirled to face her wife. “Oh, Andrea. I didn’t realize you were home.”
“I only just arrived. What are you doing?”
“Something I haven’t had to do in…” Her voice trailed off as she thought.
“In?” Andy prompted.
“Sorry, I was trying to recall. I think the last time we had the passing of so many fashion icons in a single year was during the worst of the AIDS epidemic.” She blew on her fingers. “It was too many years of too many losses.”
“Is that why you’re out here in the cold?”
“I’ve been remembering.”
“And all this?”
“A way of honoring their memory as we mark the end of one year and before we start a new one.”
“Will you tell me about them?”
“You’ve probably read their obituaries.”
“I don’t know your stories, though.”
Once Miranda nodded, Andy dragged another chair over. She sat down on the cold metal and was glad she had put on her warmest sweatpants.
Miranda extended her arm and tapped a fingernail to the oversized hurricane globe around the tall, black candle. “André Talley was so big that many didn’t realize how much hurt him. All those sticks and stones and racist stings took their toll.” She rubbed her finger over the top of the glass and murmured, “He was my mentor when I started out as an editor. His knowledge was encyclopedic and helped me place so much of the work in context.”
“Like the history of cerulean?”
“Exactly.” Miranda winked at her. “He laughed when I told him that story.”
“I bet. I’m glad you had him in your life.”
“Thank you.” Miranda wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She pointed at the next candle. It was gold and seemed to glitter.
“Pretty.”
“Like the man himself. Manfred Thierry Mugler put on some of the best shows to grace fashion week. You never knew what would come down the catwalk next.”
“I’m not familiar with the name.”
“Oh, you might have known him from his work in the music industry - he made Glamazon an aspirational style long before he dressed Beyonce.”
“Queen Bey?” Andy exclaimed.
“Indeed. And, she wasn’t his only foray into music. He collaborated on music videos with David Bowie and George Michael and dressed Madonna, Grace Jones, Diana Ross, Cardi B.” She laughed, “Oh, how I hated his inverted silhouette but I will admit it was revolutionary.”
“May peace be upon him.”
“Thank you.” Miranda shivered and then smiled when she saw the gloves Andy pulled out of her coat.
“Oh, you still have these? I was planning to safety pin them to the end of your sleeves.”
“Now, stop!” Andy slapped her arm. “I could take them back, you know?”
Miranda quickly slid them on. “No, no! I do appreciate their warmth.”
“Have you been out here a while?”
“An hour or so. I left work early as I had to go out for the candles.” She side-eyed Andy. “Not something I wanted to send an assistant out to get.”
Andy rolled her eyes. “God forbid you show your feelings to those who work for you.”
Sniffing, Miranda tossed her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
With another eye roll, Andy replied, “You don’t fool me, Priestly. You have many layers and, it has been my pleasure to plumb your hidden depths.”
“Mmm, hmmm,” Miranda moaned before licking her lips.
“Keep your mind out of the gutter, missy.” Andy smiled fondly at her and waved her hand at one candle that was different from the others. It was a narrow pillar like those used for prayer candles. Instead of a saint on it, there was a taped picture.
“Who is that?”
“Roxanne Lowit.”
“And the picture?”
“I took it of her many years ago. She took a candid photo of me and I took a photo of her in return.” Miranda smiled. “I had just learned how to use my phone to take pictures.”
Andy cocked her head. “I remember now. You used some of her work in that spread on the body issue.”
“Yes, she was a witness to the evolution of beauty. She made her name by focusing on the models themselves. She went backstage and focused attention on the many people behind the scenes.”
“Cool.”
“She was also incredibly nice.”
“And you were still friends?”
“Did you want to hear this?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I was only joking.”
“I know. I’m just a little sensitive tonight.”
“Did you want me to go?” Andy half stood up but was stopped by Miranda’s hand on her arm.
“No, please stay. You are my comfort and my strength.”
Even by the light of the candles, Andy’s blush was obvious. “Thank you.” She squeezed the hand on her arm. “My midwestern roots are making me itch to make you a casserole, though.”
Shuddering, Miranda laughed. “No hot dish!”
They smiled at one another in memory of the last trip they had made to Ohio together following the death of Andy’s father. The kitchen, dining room and part of the living room of her childhood home had been filled with a multitude of dishes brought be neighbors, friends, colleagues and assorted other mourners. They had spent hours labeling the food and trying to find places to put it in her mother’s freezer.
“Okay, I’ll restrain myself.”
Miranda snorted. “That’ll be the day.”
A gust a wind tore through the garden and sent the flames dancing. Miranda reached forward and adjusted the glass protecting the black and white candle from the draft. There was a beautiful butterfly etched on the glass.
“Who is that for?”
“Hanae Mori.”
Andy furrowed her brow. “Didn’t she dress Hillary?”
“Very good. There may be hope for you yet.”
Andy mockingly brushed the insult off her shoulders and asked, “Will you tell me about her?”
“She also dressed Princesses Grace and Masako and American royalty like Lady Bird Johnson, Martha Graham and Nancy Regan. Every woman who wore her, was given confidence and dignity from the elegance of her designs.” Miranda rubbed her fingertips over the etched butterfly. “She gave many the courage to spread their wings.”
The candle next to that one was a silver grey. The flame kept guttering and was giving off an inky black smoke.
“I think I know who this one is for.”
Miranda nodded. “Yes, it is for Patrick Demarchelier.” She sighed. “Dear Patrick.”
“You relied on him a lot.”
“I did. He could sense my vision and bring it out with his photographs.”
“May his memory be a blessing.”
“With some of the allegations of misconduct out there, I’m hoping all who suffered find peace.”
The journalist in Andy wanted to press her for more but knew this evening wasn’t the right time. She turned her attention to a group of three candles under one large hurricane globe.
“And these?”
“Peter Hidalgo, Nino Cerruti and Issey Miyake. There were all designers who brought life to fashion - Issey with his pleats and fabrics, Peter with his paintbrush and windows and Nino’s efforts to bring genderless garments to the masses.”
“Do they know how Peter died?”
“I don’t believe so. It was a true shame that he went from the International Rising Star in 2010 to being found dead in a homeless shelter.”
“It was heartbreaking to hear of his passing like that.”
“I know,” Miranda replied. She shook her head and tapped the next candle. The glass holder had a skyline scene of New York.
“This one is for Katie Gallager. She reminded me a little of myself. Like so many New Yorkers, she came here from somewhere else with nothing and gave everything. The grit and creativity of entrepreneurs like her, help make so much of the beauty of this city.”
“Didn’t she tend bar with AOC?”
“Yes, before Ocasio-Cortez was elected to Congress.”
“Neat.” Andy pointed at the next candle, a bright, garish orange. “I think I can guess who this one is for.”
“Vivienne Westwood.”
“Isn’t she the one who flashed the paparazzi after getting her Order of the British Empire?”
“Indeed. She spent decades putting her thumb in the eye of propriety and tradition. She took bustles and corsets and frock coats and made them commentary and then took t-shirts and artworks and made them fashionable.”
“Quite the character.”
“You said a mouthful.”
The final candle was a little separate from the others on the table. It was a soft yellow and gave a lovely glow.
“Who is that one for?”
“For Barbara Walters. She might not have been strictly fashion but she was a shining example of possibility for women.”
They sat and watched the flames flicker for a while. It was strange to seem them move in all directions, even when there was no wind.
Andy saw a couple of other unlit candles on the ground. “What are those for?”
“There are others who died, photographers and models. I was going to light them next.”
“Could I do it?”
Miranda nodded as she handed over the lighter. “I would like that.”
Reverently, Andy put the candles on the table and lit them. She closed her eyes and offered up a prayer of peace. Opening her eyes, she stared for a moment at Miranda, lit by candlelight. “Beautiful,” she whispered.
“Pardon?”
Blinking back tears, Andy said, “Thank you. I’m so grateful for you letting me in.”
Miranda blinked back her own tears. “I’m glad I was able to share them with you.”
She reached out and took Miranda’s hand. “Are there any other rituals you’d like to observe?”
“Just a few words.”
“I’m listening.”
“Okay.” Miranda stood up and pulled Andy into her arms. “We have lit these candles to honor our grief and give thanks for the lives of our loved ones. May their light guide us toward healing.”
“Amen,” Andy answered.
“Their legacy shines in the darkness and chases away grief. We cherish the gift of their lives and promise to keep their memory safe in our hearts.”
Andy responded, “Thank you for sharing your light.”
Miranda squeezed her tightly. They stood there, rocking slightly until Andy shivered from the cold.
Miranda released her hug and took Andy’s hand. “Come, my little icicle. Let us go inside and get you warm.”
“Sounds good. Are you going to blow out the candles?”
“No, I will let their light burn on against the darkness.”
“That’s a lovely thought.” Andy opened up the back door and unzipped her coat. Moving over to the cabinet, she asked, “Would you like a cup of decaf coffee? Or maybe some decaf tea?”
“Just warm up a mug of water and I will drink the sadness from the cup.”
“My, you are morose tonight.”
“Only because you are denying me my caffeine.”
“Me and your doctor and your children. I’m not alone in wishing to have you around for a lot longer.” Andy pointed back out the way they’d come. “I don’t want to be doing this for you any time soon.”
“All right, my love. I will drink the grass clippings.” Miranda smirked. “Of course, a shot of Maker’s Mark will help me smile while I sip the tea.”
Andy laughed and went into the study to grab the bottle of whiskey. “Anything for one of your smiles.”
Turning back toward the garden, Miranda kissed her fingertips and touched her heart. She spoke into the night, “Go, my dears, and know no further sorrow.”